The man in New Jersey had an itch—on the line Rudy Graveline heard the disgusting sound of fat fingers scratching hairy flesh. He tried not to think about it.
“Somebody new is giving me a hard time,” the doctor said. “I don’t know if you can help, but I thought I ‘d give it a shot.”
“I’m listening.”
“It’s the Dade County Commission,” Rudy said. “I need somebody to kill them. Can you arrange it?”
“Wait a minute—”
“All of them,” Rudy said, evenly.
“Excuse me, Doc, but you’re fucking crazy. Don’t call me no more.”
“Please,” Rudy said. “Five of them are shaking me down for twenty-five grand each. The trouble is, I don’t know which five. So my idea is to kill all nine.”
Curly Eyebrows grunted. “You got me confused.”
Patiently Rudy explained how the bribe system worked, how each commissioner arranged for four crooked colleagues to go along on each controversial vote. Rudy told the man in New Jersey about the Old Cypress Towers project, about how the commissioners were trying to pinch him for the zoning decision he no longer needed.
“Hey, a deal is a deal,” Curly Eyebrows said unsympathetically. “Seems to me you got yourself in a tight situation.” Now it sounded like he was picking his teeth with a comb.
Rudy said, “You won’t help?”
“Won’t. Can’t. Wouldn’t.” The man coughed violently, then spit. “Much as the idea appeals to me personally—killing off an entire county commission—it’d be bad for business.”
“It was just an idea,” Rudy said. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“Want some free advice?”
“Why not.”
Curly Eyebrows said, “Who’s the point man in this deal? You gotta know his name, at least.”
“I do.”
“Good. I suggest something happens to the bastard. Something awful bad. This could be a lesson to the other eight pricks, you understand?”
Rudy Graveline said yes, he understood.
“Trust me,” said the man in New Jersey. “I been in this end of it for a long time. Sort of thing makes an impression, especially dealing with your mayors and aldermen and those types. These are not exactly tough guys.”
“I suppose not.” Rudy cleared his throat. “Listen, that’s a very good idea. Just do one of them.”
“That’s my advice,” said the man in New Jersey.
“Could you arrange it?”
“Shit, I ain’t risking my boys on some lowlife county pol. No way. Talent’s too hard to come by these days—you found that out yourself.”
Rudy recalled the newspaper story about Tony the Eel, washed up dead on the Cape Florida beach.
“I still feel bad about that fellow last month,” the doctor said.
“Hey, it happens.”
“But still,” said Rudy morosely.
“You ought to get out of Florida,” advised Curly Eyebrows. “I been telling all my friends, it’s not like the old days. Fuck the pretty beaches, Doc, them Cubans are crazy. They’re not like you and me. And then there’s the Jews and the Haitians, Christ!”
“Times change,” said Rudy.
“I was reading up on it, some article about stress. Florida is like the worst fucking place in America for stressing out, besides Vegas. I’m not making this up.”
Dispiritedly, Rudy Graveline said, “It seems like everybody wants a piece of my hide.”
“Ain’t it the fucking truth.”
“I swear, I ‘m not a violent person by nature.”
“Costa Rica,” said the man in New Jersey. “Think about it.”
Commissioner Roberto Pepsical got to the church fifteen minutes early and scouted the aisles: a bag lady snoozing on the third pew, but that was it. To kill time Roberto lit a whole row of devotional candles. Afterwards he fished through his pocket change and dropped a Canadian dime in the coin box.
When the doctor arrived, Roberto waddled briskly to the back of the church. Rudy Graveline was wearing a tan sports jacket and dark, loose-fitting pants and a brown striped necktie. He looked about as calm as a rat in a snake hole. In his right hand was a black Samsonite suitcase. Wordlessly Roberto brushed past him and entered one of the dark confessionals. Rudy waited about three minutes, checked over both shoulders, opened the door, and went in.
“God,” he exclaimed.